A Sunny Disposition
by Neverend
Summary: Nineteen-year-old Sunny Baudelaire is struggling with jealousy, men, and starting her own business when a certain secret organization she and her siblings have been avoiding for years rears its ugly head.
1. ONE is the Loneliest Number

_Author's Note: the name's Neverend and I hope you enjoy my fanfiction. This is my first SOUE fic, though I have written stories in several other realms (check them out if you dare). This is some of my more slow-paced work, but trust me, there will be conflict and evil, fire-starting organizations in the future._  
  
One  
  
Sunny Baudelaire was chopping vegetables with a ferocity the task really didn't require. Sunny was not in a good mood. She hadn't been in a while, and was beginning to forget what a good mood felt like.  
  
"Why tonight of all nights?" she muttered as she swept the chopped vegetables up into her hand. "He couldn't have waited, say, a day, for me? Just this one dinner and he could have trotted off like a lamb for all I care."  
  
Sunny swept across the cramped, poorly decorated kitchen area of her apartment and dumped the vegetables into a pot on the stove. They made a satisfying sizzling noise as they dropped into the water. She plucked several spices from the rack on the wall and slammed them onto the counter so hard that the tile shook. "Idiot," she growled at the pot.  
  
Carl, Sunny's boyfriend of longstanding, had broken up with her a mere two hours before. This was all well and good as far as Sunny was concerned, since he was a bit of an idiot, but she wished, oh how she wished, that he could have stayed long enough to have dinner with her and her family tonight.   
  
"I'm sorry Sunny," he had said. "You're a great gal and all, but I really want someone more... cheerful. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"I hope you don't mind," Sunny mimicked as she pulled on her oven mitts. "What an idiotic thing to say to the girl you're dumping." She swept open the oven door and pulled out a steaming loaf of garlic bread. "Well, I don't mind Carl. I really, really, really don't mind."   
  
What Sunny did mind was having Violet feel sorry for her. She couldn't stand her sister's pity. She also didn't want Isadora, her sister-in-law, being nice and sweet and trying very hard not to show her pity because she knew that Sunny hated it. To make things worse, without Carl as a buffer, Sunny'd probably end up sitting next to Duncan's latest girlfriend. All in all, this dinner looked like it was going to be even more unpleasant than she suspected it would be when it was planned.   
  
A shiny pan hanging on the wall caught Sunny's attention. She leaned closer to examine herself in its surface and smiled her best photograph smile at it. She stopped grinning almost immediately. Her teeth were much too pointed, they ruined her smile. Her cheeks were too red, as well, and her auburn hair was plastered to her forehead by sweat. As for her body... Sunny grimaced as she looked down at herself. Years of eating her own cooking had made Sunny a tad bit plumper than she would have liked, despite endless and ever-changing exercise programs.   
  
A scowl firmly fixed on her face, Sunny reached out and turned over the pan on the wall, so that its dull, unreflective underside was facing her. For a moment she stood still, a heavy feeling of depression hanging over her.   
  
"Idiot Carl," Sunny mumbled. The words inflamed her emotions, and in a moment she was preparing dinner with as much violence as before.  
  
When Sunny was finally done with the meal, she set all the dishes out on the table and stood back. Despite all of her frustration, the sight of a table heavy with delicious foodstuffs made by her own hands gave Sunny a sense of satisfaction. She really did love cooking.   
  
But then, a glance at the clock drove all thoughts of food out of Sunny's mind. The red numbers glaring from the clock read 5:30 pm. Her siblings and their spouses were coming at six.  
  
Sunny bolted into her room and to her closet, rummaging through her clothes in a frenzy. She had meant to have at least an hour to get herself ready before they came, so she could take a shower to get rid of all the cooking grease and grime. She'd also considered curling her hair, which, because of the time involved, she didn't do often even though she thought it made her look very sophisticated. As it was, she only had time to change out of her sweatshirt, brush out her hair, and slap make-up on her face.   
  
Even before she was quite finished with that last activity, there was a knock on the door. Sunny smeared the last of her lipstick on so fast it was a wonder that none got on the rest of her face and raced to swing open the door.   
  
Klaus and Isadora Baudelaire were standing in the hallway.  
  
Sunny's brother was looking every inch the librarian, wearing a tweed coat with leather patches on the elbows-he never changed out of that coat-over a sweater vest and striped tie. His glasses glinted and his tweed covered arm was draped over his wife's shoulder's.   
  
Isadora looked motherly. She wore a dress of pale cotton sprinkled with tiny flowers. The cloth bulged over her stomach, showing that she was pregnant yet again. Her hair was cut to chin length, for easy maintenance. A large brown purse swung at her side. Sticking out of it Sunny could see the small, black notebook that Isadora was constantly writing poetry in.   
  
The two of them looked around at Sunny's apartment. She could see them taking in the hideous yellow color of the walls, the dingy tan carpet and spotted linoleum of the floors, the unpacked boxes that Sunny had meant to hide before they got there.  
  
"This place is, um, very nice, Sunny," said Isadora, in her usual, nice way.   
  
"I haven't had the time to redecorate." Or the money, she added mentally, though she did not want them to know that.  
  
Klaus's eyebrows were raised at the peeling walls. "I can bring you a book from the University library on quick decorating, if you'd like."  
  
"No thanks, Klaus." Klaus thought that a book was the answer to anything and everything.   
  
"Your home is very nice. I'm sure there are no mice," Isadora muttered. Sunny knew that her sister-in-law hadn't really meant that for Sunny, but was constantly putting things into rhyme and composing couplets to herself.  
  
"Why don't you come sit down while we wait for the others?"  
  
Klaus and Isadora nodded and followed Sunny to a faded sofa with flat cushions.  
  
"Duncan should be here soon," said Isadora once she was seated.  
  
As if in response to her statement, there was a knock at the door. Sunny stood up and answered it to find Duncan Quagmire beside a pretty girl with a very tight blouse and hair that Sunny sincerely doubted was that blonde originally.  
  
"Carrie," said Duncan, "meet my sister-in-law, Sunny Baudelaire."  
  
"Sunny! What a cute name!" squealed Carrie. "I should name my dog Sunny!"  
  
Duncan looked a little uneasy at his date's outburst. "Uh, let's go sit over there, sweetie. You can meet Klaus and Isadora."  
  
He gave Sunny a quick and sheepish smile as he led Carrie to the other side of the apartment. Before she could follow him, a third knock thudded through the apartment.  
  
Sunny stood frozen on her feet for a moment, knowing who her third set of guests would be. There was another knock, louder this time. Finally Sunny worked up the courage to swing open the door.  
  
"Hi Quigley. Hi Violet."  
  
The two of them were dressed up, as always, even for a family dinner. Quigley wore a dark suit, with a loose tie and shirt just rumpled enough to look charming and not messy. His hair was also charmingly ruffled, falling over his eyes in dark curls.   
  
And beside him was Violet. Violet, thirty-three years old but looking twenty. Violet, as slim as a fashion model even after three children, with her hair elegantly swept up over her pretty face. She wore a blouse in a shade of maroon that made her skin glow, a dark skirt, and heels. At Violet's throat gleamed a Quigley sapphire, matching the smaller one on her ring finger.   
  
"Sunny!" Violet cried, and hugged her little sister. "It's been months since I've seen you. How are you?"  
  
"I'm just fine," grunted Sunny, pulling away from the hug. Violet was smiling at her, showing all of her perfectly white, perfectly straight, perfectly blunt teeth.  
  
Behind Sunny's back, Carrie's high-pitched squeal rang from across the room. "You're pregnant! That's so cute!"  
  
Quigley winced. "My brother's new girl I take it? What was her name...Cammie?"  
  
Sunny opened her mouth, but it was Violet who answered. "Carrie, dear. Remember, he told you about her over the phone the other day? Said she was sweet?"  
  
"Hmm. I suppose we should go meet her, then." Quigley didn't seem to be looking forward to it.  
  
"Not with you looking like you're about to wade into a pit of winged toads we don't," Violet told her husband firmly. "I think Duncan really likes this one; we don't want to hurt her feelings."  
  
"You thought Duncan 'really liked' Sara too. And Gwendolen, and Kit, and Jasmine, and Jade, and Jenna–he went through a period when he seemed to prefer 'J' names, remember Sunny?"  
  
Sunny smiled weakly and nodded. "You forgot Jessica."  
  
"See Honey?"  
  
Violet's response was to roll her eyes and give Quigley a light kiss on the cheek. "Come on, let's go introduce ourselves to Carrie. And you had better smile. A real smile."   
  
Sunny's brother-in-law sighed and fixed a charming and utterly unforced looking grin onto his face. "This better?" he whispered through his teeth.   
  
"Much." Violet smiled as well and took hold of his arm. Together they glided off toward the other couples.  
  
Left alone, Sunny grimaced. What a sickeningly sweet display of marital affection. Whenever she saw the two of them together...it made her teeth itch. She had to admit, though, that she didn't mind Quigley that much by himself. He had always seemed pleasantly down to earth, and had played games with her when she was younger. However, she had never looked up to him the way she had Duncan. Duncan had talked to her, real talks that could never be equaled by silly games. He had tasted her early attempts at cooking, and rather than giving weak, generic praise had told her exactly what was wrong with it and what was right. Being a journalist, he was not the sort to water down the truth, and even at seven years old Sunny had appreciated that.   
  
She watched as Quigley and Violet dragged two dining chairs over to the sitting area. They had left the armchair for Sunny. How horribly thoughtful of them.  
  
The couple said hello to Klaus and Isadora and introduced themselves to Carrie, who was half sitting on Duncan's lap. Sunny saw them settling in, lightly chatting. She also saw Isadora glance over at her and quickly look away. Isadora knew that Sunny did not want to be beckoned over; she would join them when she felt like it.  
  
Sunny sighed. She supposed she felt like it now.  
  
"You can have the armchair, Violet."  
  
"Oh, no thanks, Sunny. I'm perfectly comfortable right here."  
  
The younger woman moved across the room and sank into the cracked brown leather armchair. She gazed around at her family, her family in-law, and Carrie, all of whom were spiritedly conversing.  
  
"We're trying out a new babysitter tonight," Violet was saying to Isadora. "She seems like a nice kid, though a bit out of it. I don't think she heard half of the words I said."  
  
Isadora laughed. "You're one to judge! I clearly remember you staring off into space with that ribbon in your hair."  
  
"But I was inventing, improving society."  
  
"Well who knows; maybe this babysitter of yours is the next Edison!"  
  
"I love books!" Carrie exclaimed, leaning over Duncan in order to talk to Klaus. "Have you ever read Midnight Passion?"   
  
"Uh, don't think so, no."  
  
"Winter Heat?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Seduced by a Stranger?"  
  
"No."  
  
Meanwhile, Duncan was leaning behind Carrie's back so that could talk with his brother. "I just got assigned as the human interests reporter at the paper."  
  
Quigley nodded. "Sounds interesting."  
  
"Well, it's not my ideal assignment–I prefer hard facts and current events-but it'll do. How's your work going? Still cranking out atlases I trust?"  
  
"Yeah. Production was halted for a few hours the other day when some of the machinery in the factory broke down. All of the mechanics were stumped, but I released Violet on it and she had it fixed up in twenty minutes. Most brilliant use of paper clips I've ever seen."   
  
All of a sudden, Sunny desperately wished Carl was there. For all his shortcomings, he was at least someone to talk to when everyone else had paired up like this. She leaned back in the chair and sighed.  
  
"So Sunny, when's that boyfriend of yours going to get here?"   
  
She jumped in her seat, looking up to see Isadora and Violet gazing at her intently. It was Isadora who had spoken.   
  
"Wow, you haven't read anything have you?" Carrie was saying to Klaus, but Duncan shushed her.  
  
"Yeah, Sunny," he said. "Where's Carl?"  
  
She blushed. This was the moment she had dreaded. "Um...he's not coming. We...broke up this morning."  
  
"That was lousy of him!" Violet exclaimed. "And typically male. I mean really, the very day of a family dinner!"  
  
"Yeah!" Carrie concurred with feeling.  
  
"Actually," Sunny said, silencing both of them, "it was me who broke up with him. Things just didn't seem to be working out, you know?"  
  
Violet looked puzzled. "I–"  
  
"Of course we know what you mean, Sunny," Isadora cut Violet off, sending her a 'we discussed this' glance.   
  
There was an awkward pause during which Carrie looked confused and Quigley looked especially uncomfortable. It was Klaus who spoke first. "So, if we're all here, why don't we eat?"  
  
"Yeah," said Sunny, rising from her chair, "let's eat."


	2. TWO is Company

  
Sunny did indeed end up sitting next to Carrie. The six couples and Sunny had ranged themselves about the round dining table and were busy piling food onto their plates. Across from her, Isadora and Violet were sitting together in order to gossip more easily. "This smells delicious, Sunny," gushed Isadora, lifting a square of lasagna onto her plate.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Quigley, never having been the kind of guy who talked while he ate, dug in. "Do you have the recipe for this, Sunny?" asked Klaus, taking a bite. "I'm sure if you could lend us your cookbook, then Isadora..."  
  
"Klaus," his wife interrupted, "you know I can't cook anything like Sunny does, even if I follow the recipe perfectly."  
  
"But if you read how to do it, I can't see why..."  
  
"I didn't use a recipe anyway," Sunny informed him. "I just sort of did it from memory. I do that a lot."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Meanwhile, Duncan had pushed his plate over to Carrie's, which was bare except for a small heap of salad taking up no more space than a dollar bill. "Come on, sweetie, have some of my lasagna."  
  
"No Duncan!"  
  
"Trust me, it's delicious. Sunny here's a professional chef."  
  
"But Duncan, it's a very fattening dinner!"  
  
Everyone grew silent. Looking up, Sunny saw Quigley wince, Violet choke on her food, and Isadora tighten her grip on Klaus's sleeve. Then Sunny realized what had upset her siblings. Carrie had accidently broken the most fundamental unwritten rule of the Quagmire/Baudelaire clan: she had uttered a phrase with the initials "VFD". Sunny remembered doing just the same a couple of times when she was younger, and how everyone had looked at her. She had never been as afraid of VFD as her siblings, and didn't feel the need to avoid the memory of it. But then again, the entire mess had happened when she was so young, there were very few memories to avoid. "I mean, that pasta must have so many carbs..." Carrie's voice trailed off as she noticed everyone else's strange behavior. "What? Did I say something?"  
  
Duncan recovered first. "Uh, no, hon. It's just..."  
  
"We're thinking of something," interrupted Violet. "That's all."  
  
Isadora joined in. "Yes, Carrie. Don't worry about it."  
  
"Oh. Okay." She smiled brightly and speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. Suddenly, with the fork full of lettuce half raised to her mouth, Carrie froze. She looked up at the rest of the table, an air of revelation beaming from her face. "I just had the most adorable idea! Why don't you guys name the baby Sunny? Wouldn't that be cute?"  
  
"Yep," said Sunny. "Very cute. Awesomely cute. I mean, there's no words to describe how cute that would be. Carrie, you're a genius."  
  
For a second or two, Carrie looked flattered, but then she seemed to consider the tone of voice in which Sunny had spoken and her face fell. For a moment she seemed about to get offended, but she merely wrinkled her forehead and looked confused. Across the table, Violet did not look confused. She looked anything but. "Sunny, it just occurred to me that I haven't seen your new bedroom yet. Could you show it to me?"  
  
Sunny raised her eyebrows. "But you've barely begun eating. Aren't you hungry?"  
  
"Oh, I'm plenty full." Violet stood up, walked around the table, and placed a hand on Sunny's shoulder. "Come on," her voice was calm, but in it Sunny could detect a hint of Firm, Disciplinary Substitute Mother. "I can't wait to see what you've done with your room." Very, very gently, Violet pulled her little sister out of the chair and led her into the other room, all the while tightly squeezing her shoulder.  
  
The moment the door to the bedroom closed, Violet let go of Sunny. She turned around to face her older sister. "So what's this about?"  
  
"You know perfectly well!" Violet hissed.  
  
"Do I?"  
  
"What you said to Carrie in there? That was rude, Sunny. You know that. Why would you do something so..."  
  
Sunny shrugged. "It's not like she understood it."  
  
"Weren't you looking at her? Of course she understood you! Or at least, she understood what you thought of her. People can sense things like that, Sunny, and someday you are going to say something that to someone who isn't as nice as Carrie and they will be seriously ticked off!"  
  
"Like you are right now?"  
  
"Yes like I am right now!" For a moment Violet stared straight into Sunny's eyes, but at last she sighed and dropped her gaze. "Seriously, Sunny, ever since you turned sixteen... I just don't know what's wrong with you lately."  
  
"Wrong with me?" The nerve of her, suggesting that it was Sunny who had the problem. "Wrong with me? There is nothing wrong with me!"  
  
"There must be, or else you wouldn't be acting like...like such a brat. I'm sorry, I really am;  
I've been trying to ignore it, but it's really hard when it's your baby sister."  
  
"I'm not a baby anymore."  
  
"Really? Because the way you talked to Carrie, to Duncan's girlfriend, was just childish. Childish and spiteful. I was never like this when I was your age. I couldn't afford to be; I had to take care of you and Klaus."  
  
"Yes, I know. I've heard it all before."  
  
"And the thing is, you aren't even that horrible to Klaus or Duncan. It's just me, and I can't figure out why. What are you so angry about, Sunny? What are you holding against me?"  
  
Sunny looked at her sister, and as she did she seemed to see past Violet and through the wooden door, into the other room where Duncan sat at the table with the others. And she remembered. She remembered a day nearly ten years earlier, back when Violet was Sunny's hero and could do no wrong in her eyes.  
  
Sunny had been standing in a church. It was a beautiful church, with statues of angels in alcoves high in the stone wall, and light streaming in through towering, jewel-colored windows. Klaus had taken her there earlier and told her that their parents had been married in that very chapel. People crowded the polished wooden pews: Justice Strauss, Mr. Poe–coughing into the embroidered silk handkerchief he carried on special occasions, his wife and two horrible sons–long-legged, pimply teenagers at the time, Mr. Snicket–looking tired and nervous, as always, friends of the family, distant relatives, and many people who Sunny didn't know, but whom Violet insisted had helped the Baudelaires in the past and must be invited.  
  
Sunny was standing between Isadora and May, one of Violet's college friends. She was quite proud of the fact that she was an actual bridesmaid, not just a flower girl, and she got to wear a purple silk dress just like the two older girls. She tried to stand tall, with her back straight, to make a good impression on all the people in the church.  
  
And then the doors opened, Violet walked in, and Sunny forgot all about herself. Violet looked like a doll, or a queen, or an angel. Sunny watched, transfixed, as her older sister glided slowly up the aisle. The dress she wore was relatively simple in cut, without much ornamentation, but it hung on her body in a way that flattered every curve perfectly, and it was the shade of white rose petals, and the veil glistened and gleamed and let her beautiful face show through. Yes, definitely an angel.  
  
Sunny watched Violet's every step, every swish of the white skirt, every flash of the glitter in the veil, and was completely enthralled. Her eyes followed her sister all the way up the aisle, but as she took her spot next to Quigley, Sunny noticed something, something that distracted her. There was a look on Duncan's face. It was an odd look, one that she hadn't quite seen before, and it confused Sunny. She listened to the preacher begin the ceremony with only half of her mind, her eyes and her attention on Duncan's face. Before she knew it, the preacher was saying "And you may now kiss the bride." Quigley swept Violet into his arms, and the two embraced so deeply it seemed they were never going to stop.  
  
It was then that Sunny realized what the look on Duncan's face was. It was pain. Raw, horrible, pain that made her ache just to see it. And Duncan was watching Violet. Violet was hurting Duncan, and Sunny couldn't figure out why.  
  
Later on, she realized: Duncan was in love with Violet. Of course it hurt him to see her marry his brother. It was then that Violet's shining image began to fade just a little in Sunny's eyes. She couldn't understand how Violet had been so blind not to notice how he looked at her, how cold not to care about the pain that she caused him. It was then that the shining image that was Violet seemed to dull just a little in Sunny's mind.  
  
"So Sunny, could you please, please, go back in there and be nice to Carrie?"  
  
Sunny looked at her sister. "You want me to apologize?"  
  
"No, that would be embarrassing. Just sit down and say something civil." Violet sighed, apparently exhausted from railing at Sunny. "Come on."  
  
She hesitated for a moment, but then decided it wasn't worth it. It wouldn't be too hard to say something "nice" to Carrie; Sunny was a nice person, she really was. As she turned toward the door, Violet lifted a hand as if to place it over Sunny's shoulder in a sort of half-hug, but Sunny sidestepped her. You couldn't make an affectionate gesture like that after chewing someone out, you just couldn't. Even if you happened to be right, just this one time.  
  
The two women stepped back into the main room and the guests at the table looked up for just a moment before returning to their meals. Except Duncan. His eyes stayed on them for just a few seconds longer, and were dragged slowly back down to his plate as they moved toward the table. Or rather, he hadn't been watching the two of them, he had been watching Violet. Just Violet. Sunny knew, she could tell. Duncan had been in love with Violet, and he still was. After all these years. Sunny was good at seeing things like that. She knew, she could tell.  
  
"I...like your shirt. Carrie."  
  
"Thanks!"  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
